The abortion video displayed the abortion of babies further along in gestation. I know what it’s like to hold a baby the size of some of those being aborted.

My niece, Lane, was born super small. Despite her size, she was a force when she came barreling out into the world. She refused to nap or sit down. Before she could stand on her own, she’d cry to be held so that someone could hold her upright. I’ve never been a “baby” person, but holding Lane — well, trying to — was always engaging. There was a world to be seen, and she was determined to be the one to see it. Watching Lane, in all her fury, made me proud to be her aunt, albeit an exhausted babysitter. It’s little girls like her who become the Joan of Arcs and Amelia Earharts. It’s the “though she be but little, she is fierce,” ones who are courageous enough to break and reset all the ill-grown bones of the world.

I watched the way the baby, the aborted one, moved. Perhaps, a few seconds prior, she had been like Lane. Not anymore.

Something in my brain said her body shouldn’t hang like that. Even if her eyes are closed, her lips should be moving slightly. Her little chest should be lifting up and down. Someone should be holding her with her head resting in the crook of their arm. But where is the rest of her? How can this be real? Surely, it isn’t.

But the broken little girl between the feet of her mother was real. She was alive, and then she wasn’t. Evidently, there was a doctor there, but he wasn’t worried about her. No abortionist goes in saying, “I hope I save this baby,” because that’s not the goal of an abortion.

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